


a dream wrought from ice

by solarlances



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarlances/pseuds/solarlances
Summary: Aelin returns to Endovier, the icy prison where she was once enslaved, on a mission to bless it with magic. Thinking she’s made the journey alone, she’s surprised to find her husband waiting for her. But it turns out, maybe having him around isn’t so bad after all.





	a dream wrought from ice

**Author's Note:**

> this is like the first real fic I’ve written? i know I’ve published two others before this but they were actually written after. anyhow, this was done for the @throneofglassminibang , which is a super cool thing! yay! i don’t know how to write coherent author’s notes!

Aelin Galathynius had spent years learning to forget, training her mind against the past as she trained her fire against the darkness. In her waking hours, she learned quickly, and as her life began to mellow out, as she settled into her duties as Queen of Adarlan, the battle grew ever easier. With so much going on around her—parties, events, responsibilities—she had no choice but not focus on the now. She let life embrace her, and so her ghosts slipped into the shadows, and her most painful memories faded into the background.

Dreams, however, remained the wildcard. Sometimes, she could rein in her unconscious mind, forcing herself awake, bones trembling and neck slick with sweat, before she could plunge any deeper into the memory. Then Dorian, sensing her struggle, would roll over and gather her in his arms, and the pain would ebb away. Other times, though, she wasn’t so fortunate.

            Most of her nightmares were about losing. Losing battles, losing wars. Losing her parents, Sam, Nehemia. Losing herself. Unlike her more pleasant dreams, which were hazy and scattered, nightmares manifested as memories she was doomed to repeat with brutal accuracy, as if she were being thrown back in time.

            It was Dorian who first proposed the idea of _Memorias_ , royal sites of remembrance, as a way to help Aelin wrangle her memories. Christened with magic by the King and Queen themselves, they would become a place of prayer and thanksgiving for the sacrifices made there. “Think of them as graveyards for the past,” he had told her one morning as they walked through the gardens. “You make a pilgrimage to this place—a place that had great impact on you—and you reflect on how it shaped your life. And then, it becomes a place to let go. Do you think something like that might help you?”

            She’d shrugged, mulling over the idea, fixed on the term ‘graveyard for the past.’ “I suppose it might,” she’d said. “We’ll give it some thought.”

            Dorian’s newest idea grew on her, as most of them did, and a week later, they were announcing the _Memoria_ initiative to the whole of Adarlan. The christening of Erilea’s hallowed grounds began in their own palace, in the room where Nehemia, the princess of Eyllwe and Aelin’s dearest friend, was slain.

            It had been years since Aelin had stepped into that room, and although the blood was cleaned from the floors and the walls and the linens had been swapped, the image of her friend’s mutilated body seemed to etch itself in front of her. Before the christening began, she buckled under the weight of grief, suddenly suffocating after years of slowly lifting away. There were people watching—noble invitees—and Aelin flushed at them seeing her come undone. But Dorian placed his hands on her arms and touched his forehead to hers, feeling no shame at sharing such an intimate gesture in front of a small crowd. After all, she was his Queen, and it was instinct for him to comfort her, no matter who watched.

            “Aelin,” Dorian said softly, the tenderness in his voice making her chest tighten. “We don’t have to do this, if it’s going to hurt you.”

            “No. We should. I don’t want them to see me like this any longer.”

            “You are a woman—fire and blood and flesh. You are not made of steel. If you have to step back from a challenge, they will understand.”

            She looked past the threshold at the noble onlookers, who peered at them like an audience watching a play. And she did not see scorn, nor pity, as she’d expected. Instead, they were captivated, eyes burning with reverence. Their gaze had a way of bringing her back down to Earth. A warrior queen, a Fae, a champion—as human as the rest of them.

            Then, with a hard swallow, Aelin turned back to her King and said, “I’m ready.”

            The blessing began with a prayer to the Wyrd. Aelin and Dorian bowed their heads and spoke it aloud in unison.

            _We pray to the Wyrd, so that it may bless this hallowed chamber, a site of great sacrifice. We ask that it ease Nehemia’s soul, and in turn, ease those souls that live on without her. Her trial has ended. Let this place become home to the memories of her life, and a place where her pain, as well as the pain of those who remember her, can be laid to rest._

            Aelin faltered a bit, her words stumbling from lips, but Dorian was right there with her to keep her grounded. He tugged her closer by her hands, and the small gesture proved enough to push strength back into Aelin’s words. Aelin was without a doubt the strongest woman her kingdom had ever known. But in her moments of weakness, love was there to bring her back to Earth.

            After the prayer came an incantation, a simple blessing spell in an ancient language. Aelin wasn’t really sure what all the words meant, but she knew they couldn’t have strayed far from the themes of remembrance present in the prayer to the Wyrd. They were simply—thankfully—less personal.

            “How do you feel?” Dorian asked her softly, slipping back into his normal tongue.

            “Alright,” Aelin exhaled. “Let us begin the christening.”

            Their hands briefly parted, only to come together again bursting with magic. Flames licked up from Aelin’s fingers, splashing the room with warm strokes of light. Dorian channeled his own magic into ice. Blue-white crystals etched out from his palm, crisscrossing over his fingers until they met Aelin’s fire.

            When fire and ice magic collided, it was not unlike the union of their mundane counterparts. There was smoke—white and shimmering—and water—suspended in the air in rivulets of glowing blue. The water webbed out from the meeting of their magic as luminous veins, bringing new light to the room.

            Water, magical or not, had always made sense as a symbol of sanctifying. Life was impossible without water. Water carried, water healed, water cleansed. It could move and let down and take away, but it was infinite—no matter how it ebbed and flowed, water could not be destroyed.

            It was then that Aelin truly understood the depth of the christening. She knew that in the great tangle of space and time, the past was truly infinite, that it was written as they moved through their present. But it was proof that life could be lived—could be moved, let down, taken away. Could ebb, and could flow.

            Soon, the water magic began to brush the walls, webbing across the wood. Each shining rivulet could be traced back to the source, the union of the King and Queen’s magic. Light pulsed along the water, and in time, Aelin began to feel a weight ease off her chest. It was almost as if Nehemia were there beside her, soothing her grief, instead of chastising her as she’d done in countless nightmares.

            The thought of the nightmares forced Aelin to wrench her fingers away from Dorian’s and break the melding of power. The water disintegrated, falling around them in bright blue sparks. It was a spectacle the nobles clapped and cheered at, but Aelin knew better. The christening was incomplete. The greatest surge of light had yet to come. And Aelin felt the weight return to her chest, heavy enough to crush the breath in her lungs.

            Dorian slid an arm around her waist to steady her as he announced the christening to the nobles. They were utterly convinced, and suspected nothing wrong despite the glazed stare in Aelin’s eye and the quivering in her fingers.

            That night at dinner, long after the nobles had gone home, Aelin barely picked at her food. She insisted on eating in her quarters, and after reluctantly letting Dorian join her, she’d had nothing but a few bites of chicken and a sip of wine.

            “I’m so sorry, Aelin. We should’ve chosen somewhere else. This was no way to begin our initiative,” Dorian said finally, breaking the tense silence.

            Aelin dropped her fork and looked up at him. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “It’s not the room’s fault, either. It’s mine. I broke focus.”

            “For good reason,” he protested. “It’s been years since you entered that room. It took great strength for you to even step over the threshold, let alone stay in there for so long. Remember what I told you—“

            “—I’m not made of steel. I know.” She swiftly gathered up her utensils and set them on her plate with a clang. Then, she rose to her feet and carried her still-full tray of food all the way to the palace kitchen instead of leaving the job to a servant.

            That night, she positioned herself at the far end of the bed nearest the window, just out of Dorian’s reach. Nights without him curled up beside her tended to be few, but when Aelin huddled at the other end of the bed, Dorian knew it best to leave her be.

            She fell asleep quickly, body weary after using such strong, emotional magic, and sleep dragged her into a dream. At first, the dream was pleasant. It was winter, snow falling softly, and she and Nehemia were in the city. Cloaks and skirts billowing behind them, they ducked in and out of shops like little children. They bought sweets and little trinkets, and marveled at the elaborate clothes and artwork found in the higher-end ateliers.

            Then suddenly, she and Nehemia were sitting on her bed, eating breakfast, and Aelin was telling her about Chaol. Chaol, who was dead. To Nehemia, who was dead.

            The images came rushing back like a flood. Nehemia, ripped to shreds on her sheets. Chaol, falling endlessly, hand outstretched as the darkness of the chasm swallowed him whole. And then the darkness came for her, innumerable veins of black, wrapping up her limbs, spreading across every inch of her skin.

            _Just let me rest. Please. Let me rest._

At first, submersed in the darkness, Aelin thought the voice belonged to her. But it was Nehemia’s, and she was begging, the same three sentences over and over.

            Finally, Aelin burst from the nightmare, sweat rolling down her face and her heart drumming erratically in her chest. Her gasps awakened Dorian, and within seconds he was at her side. He didn’t hold her yet, simply placed a hand on her clammy shoulder, and she didn’t flick him away.

            “Aelin? Can you talk to me?” he asked, voice heavy with sleep.

            She pulled in deep breaths, the tension easing slowly from her muscles, and finally said, “I need to help her. I need to let her rest.”

            Dorian dropped his hand from her shoulder to twine his fingers with hers. “Shh, it was just a dream,” he said. “There’s no one here but us, love.”

            “No,” she exhaled. Her eyes snapped up from her lap to meet Dorian’s with a wild stare. She looked like a phantom, with her eyes wide and her lips pursed and the moonlight brushed along her frame. “Come with me.”

            She kicked aside the covers and bounded out of the room. Dorian trailed just behind her, and while he called out for an explanation, she simply kept running. Her destination was set from the moment she awakened from the dream, and she would not stop until she reached it.

            Legs leadened by the weight of sleep, Dorian began to struggle to keep up, but by that time, he knew exactly where Aelin was leading him. Lengths apart, they threaded the path through the familiar halls until they reached the door to the room they had failed to fully bless.

            “When Nehemia died, there was so much she’d left unfinished,” Aelin said, gaze fixed on the sealed door. “I want her to rest. So we have to honor her. We have to…”

            “…finish what we started,” Dorian breathed.  

            Aelin glanced over her shoulder and gave him a tight-lipped smile. Then, she pushed open the door to the darkened room. Fire burned up her arms from her fingertips, bathing the room in a lurid glow.

            Her magic called to Dorian, and cold light flickered in his palms in response. He turned to her, stretched out his hands, and lacy spires of ice curled their way up his fingers to reach her fire.

            Their power met in an explosion of brilliant blue. Liquid light flowed through the air like blood through a vein, branching off to crawl along the walls far more quickly than it had before. Confidence, mingled with a growing sense of peace, swelled in Aelin’s heart—with her power, she could make things right.

            From the convergence of their magic, white light flashed along the water, growing brighter with each pulse. A surge of heat splintered through Aelin’s veins and spurred her forward to grab her king’s hands. Ice and fire and their chaotic clash of energy caused the brightest eruption, one that shattered the veins of water. Blue light rained down over the room, splashing against the floor and the bed before disappearing altogether.

            The room returned to darkness, but Aelin and Dorian’s hands retained a soft afterglow, illuminating their weary but smiling faces. They were both breathing heavily, drained from using such strong magic, but they had succeeded.

            They had finished what they’d started. They had laid the past to rest.

            After that night, Aelin seldom dreamt about Nehemia. She and Dorian continued the _Memoria_ project, traveling far and wide to christen the grounds of great battles and sacrifices. Many of the places their magic blessed were not of her memory. However, when she saw the faces of those who did remember, watching closely as their magic rained over the ground, she understood they were not unlike her in the way they carried pain.

            The declaration of Endovier—the great mountain prison where Aelin once labored as a slave—as a _Memoria_ should not have come as a shock. It was a place left vacant in the shadow of suffering and sacrifice, still stained with the blood of its massacred slaves. Its past was so vile, a magical benediction could only do so much. But Dorian believed it needed to be done. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Aelin knew he needed to clean his conscience of the fact that maybe, just maybe, he could’ve stopped some of the horrors that happened there.

            At first, Aelin refused. “I will not go back there,” she snapped at the dinner table. “I am free, and I have been free for years. If you want to bless that Wyrd-forsaken place, go ahead. But I will not set foot in the place that kept me in chains.”

            “I can’t make that journey without you, Aelin. It wouldn’t be right.”

            “Then don’t make it at all!”

            His face tightened, and he froze for a moment at the impact of her words. “You’re right,” he said. “It was just an idea.”

            “We won’t speak of this again.”

            But Aelin, who was no stranger to changing her mind, brought it up again. And she’d turned the tables completely. She caught Dorian in one of the courtyards after a sparring match with a guard and sauntered up beside him casually. He was already smiling—a sign he’d just won his match—and his face lit even brighter at the sight of her. She looped his arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder, and he found the gesture a bit girlish for her, even if he enjoyed it.

            “We’re married five years and you’re still flirting with me?” he teased, hugging her closer to his side as they walk.

            “Only when I want something,” she said with a smirk.

            He stopped and spun her into his arms, bringing their faces only centimeters apart. “And what might that be?” He leaned in closer, touched his nose to hers.

            Eyes closed and lips parted, but Aelin froze just before their lips could touch. “I want to bless Endovier.”

            Dorian pulled away abruptly, blue eyes wrenched wide in shock. “You’ve changed your mind?”

            “Yes,” said Aelin. “I want Endovier to be christened as a _Memoria_ —after pondering your words over a few nights, I think it’s only appropriate. But I’m going to go alone.”

            Dorian braced his hands on her shoulders. “Aelin. I love you, passionately, and I know where you’re coming from, but I can’t let you go somewhere so dangerous alone.”

            “You don’t have to let me—I don’t require your permission,” she said, and her flirtatious façade was gone, scorched away by the fiery attitude she was always so quick to ignite.

            “I know you’re strong enough. There’s a reason they call you Erilea’s greatest warrior. For one, I swear you could fight your way through an enemy battalion on your own, if you had to. But that’s not the kind of danger I’m talking about.”

            “Then what’s the problem? You’re the one who pushed me to go there in the first place.”

            Dorian breathed a frustrated sigh. “I’m talking about the danger to your heart, your soul. I know how much that place hurt you, and I can’t bear the thought of you returning alone. I want to be there for you, Aelin. That’s all I ask.”

            Aelin twisted her lips, brow furrowed as she contemplated. “I love you too, you know that. But in all honesty, I think it might be worse if you were there with me.”

            “How come?” he asked.

            “Because your father’s reign was the reason I was there in the first place. He may have helped me take my first step toward freedom, but I will never forget how he first put me in shackles.”

            Dorian hesitated before replying, “Is there anything I can do?”

            “You can let me go alone. You were not there when I suffered in that prison, and you don’t need to be there when I’m saying goodbye.”

            With that, she stalked off into the castle, and Dorian knew better than to follow. He would let her steam waft away, and then they’d apologize back and forth, insisting the other needn’t be sorry, and this argument would become one of many they’d simply forget.

            At least he hoped.

            He found her later that evening roaming the halls, her skirts swishing about her feet, silk catching streams of light from the flames burning in the sconces on the walls. She didn’t see him at first, but when she did, she almost forgot for a moment that she was still upset with him. They both had moments like that, where the other’s beauty hit them head-on, and they couldn’t believe that after all they endured, after all the times they drifted apart, they ended up together.

            “I’m sorry,” said Dorian as Aelin’s footsteps came to a stop. She didn’t reply, but her face softened. “When do you leave?” he asked.

            “I’ll depart in two days. Shouldn’t take more than a week before I’ll be back.”

            “I might have to schedule a little holiday for myself, then. Just to get my mind off you being gone.”

            Aelin reached out her hand to caress his cheek and found his skin cool. “Then I suppose we should make the most of these two days together, huh?” She grinned as his cheek warmed at the promise in her words.

            He grabbed her free hand and tugged her closer. “Yes, I suppose we should.”

            They were like teenagers again, flitting around the castle with knotted hands, stealing kisses in darkened corners before finally making it back to their room. They were each other’s greatest comfort, and when they shared their strength, they found home in each other’s tangled limbs and mingled breaths.

            Dorian left on horseback the next night with a few of his friends from the palace guard. They were headed to the coast, where they’d spend a week relaxing in the warmth and sun. In the meantime, Aelin was preparing for her return to Endovier, a trip that would be far less pleasant to make.

            Chains clanging in the night. The mournful sigh of the cold wind, wrapping itself through the mountain, lashing at her cheeks. Crystals of ice forming on the dampened ends of her hair. Fresh red welts on her back, stretching painfully with every movement of her shoulders.

            It had been almost a decade. But the moment she surrendered to sleep, every brutal detail came rushing back.

            This time, when she awoke, Dorian wasn’t there to comfort her. She was alone, as she had been so many times when she struggled, but this time she was painfully aware of the cold emptiness beside her on the mattress. She needed to sleep, needed to be rested for her journey, but instead she lay awake and stopped fighting. She let memory drag her under, violent waves crashing over her without relent.

            She remembered the whippings. The long hours laboring in the cold. The stories she heard from the other slaves, most of whom were imprisoned simply for existing how and where they did. But worst to remember was that all-encompassing feeling of being property—to be flesh and blood and soul, yet treated like a machine.

            And in a few days’ time, she would return to face the ghost of this awful corner of her past, and with her magic, she would have to lay it to rest.

            At first light, Aelin was on her feet, dressing in a pair of black trousers, a white tunic, and black boots. In her saddlebag she kept a thick fur coat for when the weather turned cold, along with a few more tunics and trousers, and her food rations for the trip. Used to traveling by carriage, she knew she’d have to pack light. But she had made journeys before with nothing but the clothes on her back, and so her confidence did not waver.

            Memories raced alongside her as she galloped through the familiar forests. She took a near identical route to the one used by the guards to bring her to Rifthold. Years ago, she had traveled these same woods with Chaol, unaware that she really would become the king’s Champion. Unaware that her freedom would come, if only far later than she’d hoped. Unaware that many people she would come to love would never see that same freedom.

            Sam. Nehemia. Chaol. All bright souls, gleaming through the darkness around them. They deserved so much more than what life gave them. And they had so much left to give to life.

            At nightfall, she curled up against a tree, or in a small hovel of a cave, and struggled to sleep. When she finally did, dreams granted her warmth—Sam’s smile, Nehemia’s voice, Chaol’s heart. And then she woke up, reaching out to them, only to find her hand stretching into an empty, frigid dawn.

            The trek took three days in total, far faster than when she left so many years ago. Hugging her coat tight around her to fight the wind, Aelin trudged along the snow-covered road to the prison’s great gate. It had long been unlocked, and gave a piercing whine as Aelin shoved it open.

            Her first mission was a sweep of the grounds. She knew she couldn’t cover everything, and there were parts she simply couldn’t bear to stand in again, but she had to find an appropriate place for the ritual. She wanted the deed done as swiftly as possible, so she could be on her way, and never have to return to this awful place again.

            As she made her way through the prison’s grounds, snow falling gently around her, ghosts walked alongside her. She did not see them, but she could feel them as they passed. Energy rippled from them with their every hurried stride. These were the spirits of the people she labored with. Suffered with. Hoped with.

            “I will set you free,” she whispered. The cold swirl of energy around her hummed in response. “That’s what I’ve come here for. To lay the past to rest.”

            And so she kept walking, paying no mind to the icy wind lashing her cheeks and the numbness in her toes, until the unmistakable whinny of a horse stopped her in her tracks. She glanced over her shoulder. Her own horse hadn’t wandered from its post, which meant only one thing—

            —she wasn’t the only one at Endovier.

            She had her magic, but it was only instinct to reach for the dagger hanging off her belt. The horse whinnied again, and she unsheathed the blade and moved toward the sound. She came upon one of the many mine entrances, where the shape of the cave was throwing the sound.

            Knowing better than to call out, she slipped quietly down the small embankment to the mine entrance before ducking into the shadows. With her back pressed hard against the wall, she looked down the tunnel, and her breath caught in her throat.

            A cloaked figure, pulling their horse along by its reins, was walking steadily toward the entrance. Old instincts flared to life, and the moment they were in range, Aelin jumped out and toppled the stranger to the ground. She braced them against the ground and shoved her dagger inches from their throat.

            And when she looked down, she dropped her dagger to the stone floor of the cave, her mouth going slack. A mix of fury and relief flashed through her.

            Dorian grinned sheepishly up at her, looking impossibly young with his cheeks and nose turned pink from the cold.

            Aelin immediately rolled off him and jumped to her feet. “What were you thinking, coming out here? I told you I wanted to be alone!” she shouted.

            Dorian scrambled to get up, brushing dust and snow off his cloak. “I…I wasn’t sure the spell would work without two. So I came to be safe,” he stammered.

            “Bullshit.”

            “Alright,” Dorian huffed. “I was worried about you. And I wanted to be there, in case you broke down like you did at our first christening. I didn’t want you to have to go through that alone.”

            Her face softened a bit. “I understand,” she said. “But I’m still upset that you came when you knew why I didn’t want you here.”

            “You’re right. I did know. This is a part of your past, not mine, and I should respect that. But if something happened to you, I could never forgive myself for telling you to go alone. For five years now, your life has finally been safe, and that’s something I’d never want to compromise.” He paused a moment, sensing his emotions rising. “I love you, Aelin. You are my light in the darkness. Let me be yours here.”

            Warmth filled Aelin’s chest, at the sight of this kind, beautiful man she’d married, and the kindness of his words. Before her, she saw someone who was aching to understand what this place did to her, desperate to take the pain if it meant she’d get some release. And she loved him for it. Her heart had been sliced a hundred ways—she’d been loved by many and loved in return—but something always brought her back to the blue-eyed prince who gave her his whole heart.

            “You are always my light, Dorian,” she replied. “I can’t begin to tell you what I feel, being back here. But walk with me. Maybe seeing it will help you understand.”

            He tied up his horse and Aelin took his hand, and then she was leading him through the prison, through the bare bones of her past. Not a word passed between them, but there grew a silent understanding, one that was formed from images and emotions, unable to be constructed by words.

            “Here,” said Aelin, slowing to a stop. They’d come upon a rise overlooking a quarry, filled with empty carts and broken tracks and snow-covered bones. “I didn’t teach you the prayer. But I can take that part. And you know the rest.”

            Dorian took her other hand and brought her closer, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ll follow your lead.”

            The prayer was simple, and despite the flood of emotion wreaking havoc on her heart, Aelin kept her voice strong. As she spoke, Dorian gently rubbed his thumb across her hand in reassurance. When he joined her in the incantation, even more strength poured into her words.

            Endovier was a cruel, deadly place. But it was then blessed in love—a burning sun to drive out the night.

            Heat sparked in Aelin’s veins as her fire erupted from her palms and flickered up her fingers. Dorian responded with a rush of crystal-blue ice. Their power collided, and rivers of blue light cascaded from their hands, falling gracefully into the quarry, winding in intricate paths through the mountain.

            Aelin didn’t know how long they stood like that, hands intertwined, breathing life into this land of death, burying its history in a beautiful, luminous flood.

            A graveyard for the past, indeed.

            After the final pulse of light, rivaling a star in its brilliance, Dorian and Aelin broke apart. They were winded and drained, their veins practically on fire, but Aelin could hardly focus on that when she was caught in the undertow of complete peace. There were no spirits reaching for her, no memories clawing their way to her consciousness.

            “You were right,” she breathed.

            Dorian popped a brow. “Wait. Is the one and only Queen Aelin Ashryver Galathynius Havilliard actually calling me _right_?” he exclaimed.

            She laughed, her breath puffing white into the cold air. “I am. I did need your magic.” She leaned forward and splayed her fingers across his chest. “But more than anything, I just needed you.”

            He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss, and she felt love in every gentle movement of his lips.

            When they separated, he brushed aside a stray strand of her pale hair, and his lips spread in a brilliant smile. “Come, my Queen,” he said. “We’ve a journey home ahead.”


End file.
